


Struggles

by gypsyweaver



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, All the pronouns for Beelzebub, Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Alternate Universe - College/University, He/Him Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), No Beta, Other, POV Beelzebub (Good Omens), POV Gabriel (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens), gabriel is an idiot, mostly because, not a lot of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:08:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: It's 1989 and Gabriel, an exchange student from the United States of Dominion, finds himself at Northern Iathghlas University at Brickport. Cold, damp Brickport is being torn apart by The Struggles, an old fight between the native demons and the colonizing angels.Gabriel finds himself in the middle of it, just after the school's chemistry lab is bombed with a respected statistics professor (and rabble-rouser) inside. He knows too much, and Beelzebub, his brilliant demon classmate, has to decide whether to kill him or save him.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Sandalphon (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 32





	1. Another Bag of Bricks

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seekwill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekwill/gifts), [ebony_dove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebony_dove/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a bombing on campus rocks all of Brickport, Gabriel starts walking. He has no destination in mind, just wandering the streets, lost in his thoughts. He remembers his first encounter with his classmate who is now the voice of the demons' rights activists. He also remembers his first encounter with Professor Sandalphon, as the summer turned to autumn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Terrorism

Gabriel pulled his wings around his shoulders, trying to block the chill that crept into his bones. The damp and the cold still got to him, sliding past the feathers of his wings, the leather and quilting of his letterman jacket, the wool of his sweater, the cotton Henley under that. Like a persistent and unwanted lover, the clammy hands of Brickport’s late autumn air intruded through each layer of his clothing to steal the warmth of his skin.

He’d only been in Brickport for a few months. He’d adjust. Eventually.

After completing his business degree a year ahead of schedule, he’d signed up to study abroad. He’d wanted a minor in Communications, and was almost immediately offered a position in the Communication Technology program in Northern Iathghlas University at Brickport.

The program was respected. The faculty published intriguing and fresh explorations of the power of the media. And (most importantly) Brickport was about three thousand miles away from his family and the state college that he’d been sentenced to.

Of course, he’d known about the anti-demon legislation, and the Struggles. Gabriel read the news. He was interested in mass communication. The headlines from that part of the world were written in the blood of schoolchildren and activists, pensioners and priests.

He’d heard about the killings. The bombings and the unrest.

But, an ocean away, it hadn’t seemed particularly dangerous. How could he call himself a man of God if he didn’t trust that God to care for him?

Most of the victims were demons, anyways. Gabriel was an angel. Besides that, he was from the United States of Dominion. A foreigner. This was just not his problem.

Until it was. Until some psychopath got it into his (or her, Gabriel amended) mind to blow up the university chemistry lab, with a respected and tenured professor of statistics inside.

With the university shut down, and his parents reassured with a bunch of information that was TECHNICALLY true, Gabriel had been free to explore Brickport over the last three days.

Probably not the wisest idea. Tensions between the angels and demons were running hot. A group of angel-supremacists pointed the finger at a group of demons’ rights activists. Some angels in the government (and even in the higher rungs of the university ladder) were trying to leverage the bombing for their own gain--mostly more sanctions against the demons of Brickport and all of Northern Iathghlas. Most of them championed the idea of removing all demons from the university.

He’d seen one of the demons’ rights activists (his classmate, Beelzebub) speaking about the bombing on the nightly news. He addressed a small crowd of like-minded angels and demons outside a pub that Gabriel frequented, the Dancing Jenny. It was one of the few pubs that didn’t turn the demons away. A small garden bloomed behind Beelzebub, bouquets left for the late Professor Agnes Nutter, dead in the blast.

Also behind Beelzebub, the letters “I-T-C-H” were splashed across tavern wall in lurid orange spraypaint. The first letter of the word had been scrubbed into a smeary blob, but it didn’t take a genius to guess what it had been.

Gabriel knew Beelzebub from the two classes that they shared. 19th Century Angelican Literature, and Theophilosophy. He was a quiet, studious demon. Slight. Pale. A Dickens orphan of a boy, blue eyes wary of shadows and strangers. Beelzebub tended to wear suits to class. Or rather, a suit. Gabriel didn’t know if it was the same suit, or if he just had several identical ones. Black jacket, black vest, black tie, white shirt, black pinstripe pants. A long woolen greatcoat (which might have been black once, but was now charcoal) nearly swallowed him.

The boy was wingless. Most demons were, outside of the States. (But most of the demons in the US were mongrel mixes of angel and demon. The demons from home were less...demonic...in their appearance. In general, the biggest difference between angels and demons in Dominion was in their wings. The angels had white wings, and the demons were more colorful.)

Now, after the terrible explosion of a lab and a professor, Beelzebub was calling for an official investigation into the allegations of demon involvement. “We have nothing to hide,” he said.

His voice was soft flannel wrapped around a lead pipe. Gabriel had been in Northern Iathghlas long enough to recognize elocution classes. Besides which, he’d encountered Beelzebub once before classes started, so he’d accidentally witnessed the demon speak with his real voice.

In public, Beelzebub always spoke as posh as you please.

“And, further,” the demon continued, in his steady and pedantic cadence, “the Order of Lucifer would like to see an investigation into the group that made these horrible allegations against us. Nobody has more to gain from a smear campaign against the demons of Brickport than the Soldiers of Purity.”

The people that Beelzebub addressed cheered. They sang, angel and demon voices entwining, “Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling...”

The news cut away then, and the spray-haired angel reporter had the gall to call the song and solidarity a precursor to riot. Gabriel had clicked the news off and started walking.

For the last three days, besides eating and sleeping, he’d walked. No destination in particular. Just walking past the brick rowhouses, the brick tentaments, down the brick streets, past the brick factory, through the great brick tunnels that allowed the trains to move the bricks through the hills.

Walking as he’d walked in his first few days in Northern Iathghlas, when he hadn’t known a soul, and longed to befriend the whole of Brickport.

On his second day in Brickport, Gabriel had come across the apartment building that housed almost all of the demons that worked and studied on campus. There, he’d seen Beelzebub for the first time.

He’d stopped to try and get his bearings. He was, by his own estimate, a block off of campus. There wasn’t a street sign to be seen. There had not been a street sign since he’d turned off of Port Street and entered a neighborhood that he would eventually know as the demon quarter.

An auburn-haired demon with very fair skin (skin that looked nearly blue-green in its undertones) steered a dead pickup truck. Her companions, one angel and one demon (wingless, with skin that seemed to change from blue-black to the ochre of the setting sun as he moved), pushed the failing truck into the parking lot for a grubby-looking apartment complex. The rotting wooden sign named it “Campus View”.

“C’mon boys, we’re nearly there,” she called out, and laughed. The sun danced on the fish scales that peppered her nose and cheeks. “Vroom, vroom. Beep, beep, bitches!”

Both of the boys rolled their eyes, and shoved harder.

A red-haired demon, with gleaming black wings, directed them to an empty parking spot.

“That’s good. Stop. Stop!”

Gabriel saw Beelzebub, though he did not yet know the demon’s name, sitting on the bottom step of the grim-looking apartment building. At the time, Gabriel had thought him to be a child. He was holding a scuffed metal toolbox. Same greatcoat, but this was the singular time that Gabriel saw him outside of a suit. He wore a black mechanic’s onesie.

“Oy!” Beelzebub called out. “Doesn’ay tha radio work, at leas’?”

In lieu of a reply, the girl clicked on the radio. Bono began to sing about Sunday, Bloody Sunday.

“Some’at cheerful at least,” Beelzebub said, screwing his face up in distaste.

The girl obliged him and Kevin Rowland began to implore Eileen to take that red dress off.

The red-haired demon hooted and then sang along as he pulled up the hood of the ancient truck. Beelzebub brought him the toolbox, then climbed on the bumper and disappeared from Gabriel’s sight.

He heard the girl pull the parking brake before hopping out. She and the other boys joined Beelzebub and his friend. They were all singing now, as they began to clunk around under the hood.

That memory was burned into Gabriel’s mind. The group of them seemed happy. Poor, but happy.

It was the only time he’d ever see Beelzebub smile.

The next day, he’d scheduled his classes with an amiable professor, a fellow named Sandalphon. His office was full of colorful, leather-bound books that Gabriel had never read, and a collection of interesting puzzles. Everything from two bent nails that could be separated with the right magical twist, to complicated carved ivory and jade balls that broke into pieces and required steady hands and great patience to put back together.

There were photos, too. Professor Sandalphon astride a monster of a motorbike. On stage with some friends (he played electric harp, and a few other stringed instruments). In his workshop, holding up the wooden puzzle that sat beside the photo. At a table draped with swags, shaking another angel’s hand and accepting a blue ribbon for brewing.

He was amiable, chatting with Gabriel about the States, about Northern Iathghlas, about the history of Brickport. About music and philosophy and food and all manner of things.

He’d recommended a few courses that eventually proved to be terrific, and he made sure that all of Gabriel’s classes were easy walking distance from each other. He also recommended a Bible study group and a group for angels who were studying abroad. He’d enjoyed both, since he’d been in Brickport. It gave him some sense of community, and a few good contacts.

Professor Sandalphon eventually signed off on Gabriel’s courseload. The pen was an elegant fountain pen, made of wood with gold fixtures.

“That’s a nice pen,” Gabriel said.

“Isn’t it?” Professor Sandalphon agreed. “I made it. Here, take a look.”

It began to rain through the sunshine as Dr. Sandalphon handed Gabriel his pen. This was the kind of weather that Gabriel’s grandfather called, “the Devil beating his wife.” Sunshowers were supposed to be warnings.

“Look at that,” Professor Sandalphon said, waving a big hand at the window. “That’s the end of the summer, my boy. Get ready for the cold, because it’s coming.”

“I will, sir.”

Gabriel left the office in a happy mood. It felt good to have an important professor believe in him and want him to succeed.

Just outside the office, the child from the apartment complex waited on a bench. His feet didn’t quite reach the ground, and when he looked up at Gabriel, the fluorescents caught his blue eyes. They gleamed like polished glass.

Those eyes, wide and wary, were ridiculously lovely. Gabriel gave the boy a slight nod before stepping into the stairwell and then out into rain that cut through his clothes like icy knives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some music, and a bit of education!
> 
> ["Sunday, Bloody Sunday"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EM4vblG6BVQ) by U2 (a demon band in this AU)
> 
> [Come On, Eileen](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ASwge9wc-eI) by Dexys Midnight Runners (a blue collar angel band in this AU)
> 
> [Danny Boy](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Danny_Boy)
> 
> [The Troubles](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Troubles) between Catholics and Protestants, and between Loyalists and Republicans. Loose basis for the Struggles of fictional Northern Iathghlas.


	2. Rebels of the Sacred Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the bombing of the College View apartments, Professor Sandalphon poses a question to Beelzebub. Gabriel is impressed with his classmate's mettle, and is willing to give the demon as much protection as he can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Sandalphon, public humiliation of a student by a teacher, dehunanization of disaster victims, terrorism

Beelzebub intrigued Gabriel, even from the first moment. Deeply. It only got worse once he started sharing classes with the boy.

Quiet, studious. Eloquent, and fiercely intelligent. He spoke rarely in the literature class that they shared, but his ideas were interesting. His perspectives of the classics were, naturally, colored by his own experiences as a demon. His opinions were fresh, and his interpretations were interesting. Gabriel doubted that he’d ever be able to look at the demons in the Hunchback of Notre Dame the same way again.

He was more vocal in their theology class, whether he wanted to be or not. Their professor for that class was Dr. Sandalphon. As it turned out, Dr. Sandalphon fancied himself a provocateur. Most of the class conversation ended with him asking for Beelzebub’s opinion on the topic of the day, being the token demon in the room.

Being constantly asked (required, considering how much class participation counted towards their final grades) to defend one’s right to exist must be taxing. But Beelzebub rose to the challenge. He wore the contempt of their professor like the robes of a priest.

In his defense of his people, Beelzebub glowed. He was a holy thing, and Gabriel could see how a man like Elijah Sandalphon might feel threatened by that. By his quiet charisma and his unwavering faith.

Ten days ago, a car bomb took out Beelzebub’s grubby-looking apartment complex. It was, indeed, about a block off of campus. Since campus housing did not extend to demons, most of the demons on campus now found themselves homeless. Eight demons died in the blast, and another four succumbed to their injuries. Beelzebub and his friends were not among the dead when Gabriel read about it in the school newspaper.

Beelzebub himself was in class the next day. He’d traded his white shirt for a black one. He also started wearing a black armband with a fleur-de-lis stamped in white around the sleeve of his greatcoat.

Order of Lucifer. Their motto was in the old Daemonic tongue. But it translated loosely to, “By Ourselves.” They waited for no help from any quarter. As evidenced by the small group of demons who quietly picked through the bricks and rubble of the apartment complex after school and work. At first, to salvage. Then, to clear the lot and, if the city council granted the permit, to rebuild.

Gabriel saw a lot of parallel between the Order of Lucifer and the Rainbow Jaguars in the States. They were both Demons’ Rights activists who staged sit-ins and started community development programs.

Though the Jaguars were not doing well these days. A few assassinations in the last two decades had stolen the breath of the movement. Drug problems (rumored to have been engineered by the DS’ own Intelligence Agencies, but Gabriel didn’t know if he believed _that_ ) ripped holes in the group more effectively than a Gatling gun.

The Northern Iathghlas government hadn’t clamped down on the Order of Lucifer the way that the States had with the Jaguars. Gabriel hoped, at least for his classmate’s sake, that they never did.

In the last class before the bombing of the chemistry lab, a spare week after the car bomb took out the apartment complex, Professor Sandalphon had asked the class (mostly Beelzebub, though) what the world had lost in the twelve demons who died.

When nobody answered, he said, “Well, what do you think, Beelzebub? These are your people. You tell us, what did the world lose?”

Gabriel was gripping his desk so hard that his knuckles were white. Professor Sandalphon’s audacity left a sour, acidic taste in Gabriel’s mouth. Especially when the target of such obvious and unprofessional prejudice was such a benign and clever boy.

Especially when the professor in question was so pleasant to Gabriel and the other angels that he taught.

“What did the world lose? Their lives,” Beelzebub replied. He seemed bored with the professor, which only enraged Dr. Sandalphon further. “Nothing less.”

“And that does beg the question--what are the lives of a dozen demons worth, eh?”

Beelzebub closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. A sick, twisted grin spread across Dr. Sandalphon’s face. That grin was an eager thing, and it made Gabriel’s wings prickle. Even now, in his memories, it made his wings prickle.

“You asked me what the world lost, and I answered you,” Beelzebub said, voice as soft as flannel around a lead pipe. “Now, you want me to measure all twelve of their hearts against a feather for you? Yes, that’s exactly what you want.”

He drew himself up, out of the desk. He was so small, especially compared to Dr. Sandalphon, who’d been a wrestler in college. Still, he walked up to the man. Head up, shoulders straight.

The knife, small and silver and dangerous, slipped out of his coat pocket with a malicious sparkle. Magician-quick, he flicked it open, whipped the handle around and pointed it (handle first) at the professor.

Dr. Sandalphon took the knife, not really understanding the purpose of the demonstration.

“If I am to be an example of my kind,” Beelzebub said, sliding his greatcoat from his slim shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. “If it’s ‘my people’, then I’ll represent them well, surely.”

Outside of the wooly confines of the greatcoat, Beelzebub’s wings unfolded and stretched--two skyward and two towards the scuffed linoleum floor. He was not wingless, after all.

Gabriel had heard of demons with insect wings, but he’d never seen them in person before. The boy’s wings were long, tapering, and translucent as glass. A wash of rainbows splashed the class, dazzling them as the glassy wings shattered the fluorescent light.

A few students gasped, audibly.

“If you’re so curious about what the world lost, and what we’re worth--if you have to measure someone’s heart against a feather,” he said, dropping his shoulders and wings and letting his jacket fall from his body. Letting his rainbows drift with the movement of those beautiful, gossamer wings. “Why don’t you just do it, then? I’ve got a heart, and you’ve got a feather. I’m sure we can find a scale.”

Dr. Sandalphon held the knife out, his hands shaking. The fury in his face was a deadly thing.

Beelzebub moved, a dancer, a bolt of lightning. He grabbed their professor’s shaking wrist and pressed the blade to his own breast. “Do it, you coward,” he said.

Nobody moved. Gabriel’s heart was hammering, but he could not even breathe.

The sound of the knife clattering to the floor was very, very loud. It was followed, very shortly, by the bell that ended the class.

“All your kind understands is violence,” Dr. Sandalphon said, his voice rich with false pity. “It’s very sad. Well, you shouldn’t expect violence from me. I’m an angel, after all. Now, let me go and put your clothes back on.”

Beelzebub released Sandalphon’s wrist. He gathered his clothes and knife, then stalked back to his seat for his books. Some of the class snickered at him, but most just fled the classroom as quickly as they could.

Gabriel watched Beelzebub pack his books, his own already in his satchel. Beelzebub slipped his jacket on, carefully pulling his wings through the slits in the back. He buttoned the jacket, then folded his glorious wings down before yanking the greatcoat on.

Beelzebub noticed Gabriel watching. He stopped moving, stopped breathing, from where Gabriel was sitting. The boy was assessing a threat, looking skittish, as he usually did. The hated orphan, looking for a friendly fire escape and a foggy rooftop to vanish over.

The rest of the class was gone now, moving to their next class, to the library, the cafeteria, to whatever waited outside the confines of Dr. Sandalphon’s domain.

Gabriel looked past Beelzebub, to Dr. Sandalphon, back to Beelzebub. He shrugged, giving Beelzebub a gentle smile.

The demon’s bright blue eyes widened, and the left corner of his mouth pulled up. A half-smile. He understood Gabriel’s intentions. And he looked happy to have an ally.

“Mr. DiAngelo,” Dr. Sandalphon said, from his desk. “I’m going to need a few words with Beelzebub. Please step out.”

Always with the angels, it was Mr. So-and-So. Miss So-and-So. But he called Beelzebub by his given name.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll be right outside.”

Gabriel heard Dr. Sandalphon mutter something about “nosey Dominionists” as he ducked out of the room. Dr. Sandalphon closed the door.

The door was oak and thick, but Gabriel felt certain that he’d be able to hear if someone on the other side screamed. Not just anyone. Beelzebub.

He heard the deep rumble of Dr. Sandalphon’s voice. Beelzebub, for his part, was silent.

The only words he could make out came from Professor Sandalphon, “Where’s my damned pen?”

A few moments of further grumbling passed before Beelzebub opened the door and stepped out. He stopped in front of Gabriel.

“You waited,” he said.

“I said I would.”

“It’s good of you.”

“Where are you headed?”

“Entomology lab. Ingrid Hall.”

“Can I walk you there?”

“Not a very safe idea for you, cowboy.”

“Cowboy?”

“Yeah,” he said, then paused. He seemed to be weighing his word choice, deciding if he liked it. He flashed the same hesitant half-smile at Gabriel. “Yeah, cowboy. It was nice of you to offer, but I’m fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Their literature class. “Yeah,” Gabriel said. “Sure.”

Beelzebub nodded, and then turned to the west wing staircase.

Gabriel followed him, even though his next class was in the same building, just down the central staircase. “Hey, what did Sandalphon want, anyways?”

“I’m to write him a paper on demon indentureship,” he replied. “Just two pages, but he said to focus on the positive aspects of indenture. How good it was for our souls.”

They were both halfway down the stairs. The noise of the hall fell away from them as they descended. “That’s...genuinely awful. I’m sorry. Can’t you drop the class?”

“There was a change in university requirements,” Beelzebub replied. “I’m two humanities short for my degree. This and the Lit class were the only two openings. Which is why I’m spending my last semester before my dissertation semester in two undergraduate classes.”

“Dissertation? You’re working on your PhD?”

“My second one, yes.”

“Oh. Wow.” _He must be a lot older than I thought_.

“Thanks,” he said.

They were in the little foyer at the bottom of the western stairs. Nobody really used this stairwell, it seemed. This was, beyond a doubt, the quietest place that Gabriel had ever encountered on campus. The silence settled over the two of them like the ocean, closing in and holding tight. Making it hard to breathe.

At least for Gabriel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sinn Féin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sinn_F%C3%A9in): A loose model for The Order of Lucifer  
> [The Black Panther Party](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Black_Panther_Party): A loose model for the Rainbow Jaguars. These people did some amazing work. And yeah, the CIA destroyed them and it sucks.


	3. Death Valley Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel remembers his conversation with Beelzebub in the quiet of the western stairwell. 
> 
> The death of Dr. Agnes Nutter still heavy on his mind, Gabriel heads to the nightlife of Brick Street, hoping for a respite from his thoughts. Instead, he sees a couple of angels harass two very drunk, very helpless demon girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: sexual harassment

Beelzebub was staring at the glass doors with a grim certainty. His breath steamed the glass. “Don’t be noble, angel,” he said. “I’m not a good person for you to make friends with.”

“What? Because you’re a demon? Or because Sandalphon’s not fond of Dominionists.”

“Precisely.”

“Which?”

“His great parting shot was that my Dominionist boyfriend wouldn’t always be there to protect me,” Beelzebub said. “I assume you like being at Brickport? Sandalphon is tenured and much loved. He plays in a garage band, makes craft beer, and volunteers with the fire brigade. Very few people know what he really is.”

“I’m not scared of him.”

“You ought to be, cowboy,” Beelzebub said. “He can send you back to the States.” The clocktower bell rang. “Oh, damn, I’m late.”

Gabriel reached out on either side of Beelzebub. He knew that the doors were heavy and tended to stick in the cold and damp. But when his hands found the door, he hesitated. He’d never been this close to Beelzebub before. The demon smelled so sweet. Like flowers and honey. Beelzebub looked up at him, quizzically.

That look reminded Gabriel that the skittish orphan did not trust him, and he shoved the heavy doors open for Beelzebub.

“‘Dominionist boyfriend’, huh?” he said, when he finally caught his breath.

“That’s what he said.”

And Gabriel was still following Beelzebub as he crossed through the fog that even the noon sun couldn’t seem to get rid of. Walking away from the class that he was already late for. 

What exactly did he think he was doing? He didn’t know.

“Hey...uh...”

“No,” the demon said, cutting Gabriel off.

“No?”

“No.” Beelzebub yanked the door to Ingrid Hall open and stepped inside. “Please don’t follow me again. It might end badly for you.”

“What? Sandalphon?”

“Dr. Sandalphon is not the worst thing in Brickport. Be careful, cowboy,” he said, starting up the stairs, two at a time in spite of his size.

Gabriel watched him go, hand on the smooth wood banister, and wondered what he might’ve said if Beelzebub hadn’t said no.

He hadn’t really considered the rest of what Beelzebub had said. About the bad things in Brickport.

But then the chemistry lab was ripped apart by a bomb in the dead of night. A professor had died, Dr. Agnes Nutter. Nobody was quite sure what she was even doing in the lab, as she was a statistics professor.

She didn’t belong in the chemistry building. Certainly not in the middle of the night.

Gabriel knew that she was a vocal advocate for her demonic students. She’d written a number of op-eds for the school paper, including a bunch of analyses of data which indicated that the angelic majority on the island of Iathghlas, and throughout Angelica, would be a minority in two decades.

A few bitter students in his Bible study group had warned Gabriel against taking any classes from her, not that he would. He’d taken all of the statistics classes he needed in the States. There were rumors on campus that she was mixed-race, but turned out looking angel enough to pass. Gabriel thought that the rumormongers were just unhappy because she was strict and they had flunked.

She didn’t deserve to be blown up.

Dr. Nutter was on his mind as he wandered Brickport. How would a statistics professor see this tangled knot of streets and neighborhoods?

The city played at having some kind of plan in the central area. Neat, square blocks. The university managed to be mostly square, with a few weird offshoot streets. But, as he got closer to the coast, the streets became more convoluted. The demon quarter was nearly impossible to navigate. Most of the street signs had been torn down years ago to confuse the (mostly angelic) police and any other interlopers. An old man, a veteran named Shadwell, had told Gabriel that factoid over an over-sugared tea and brandy at the Dancing Jenny.

So, when Gabriel reached a corner without signs, he turned around and headed back towards campus.

Brickport was, as the name suggested, mostly made of bricks. It was a working class city, blue collar to the core. Angels and demons both worked the brick factory and the wharfs. Demons worked at the quicklyme plant, and angels made up the biggest part of the service industries and civil service jobs.

There were a few fine manors behind high fences with dogs patrolling. Manors with lichen and ivy growing up their ocean-damp walls. Those housed the few wealthy citizens of Brickport. Angels, all of them. Heavenly Acres was as closed to Gabriel as the demon quarter was.

So he’d kept his explorations to the downtown area, and around the university, mostly. Now, he walked down Holy Oaks, to Brick Street. The nightlife was on Brick Street.

Gabriel was not much of a party person, but he’d learned to appreciate the warmth of pubs. Nothing like the dark bars in his old college town in Dominion, Northern Iathghlas’ pubs were den-like refuges full of good food, dark beer so thick that it required chewing, and animated discussions about every manner of thing. He’d learned a lot from the pubs. There was always someone who would talk to him about something as long as he kept filling their glass.

Money, he had. Knowledge, he wanted. Company, he needed.

His favorite pub, the Crossed Hammers, was boarded up. Not a good sign.

His second favorite pub, the Dancing Jenny, was decked in black swags. A collection of flowers rotted in front of the big picture window. A framed picture of Dr. Nutter, glass shattered, sat in the center of the decaying mums, poppies, and roses. The wall no longer said “I-T-C-H”.

The wake for Dr. Nutter seemed to be continuing in full-swing. He decided against attending. He didn’t know the woman, except by reputation. He prayed for her and paid his respects outside.

Gabriel sighed and kept walking. His third favorite pub, Brick’s End, was at the very end of Brick Street, where it took a hard left and became Port Street. He had to pass several bars to get there, most of them of questionable character.

He was passing by Rosie’s when he first saw the girls. They tumbled out of Shenanigans, arms around each other. Very drunk, very alone, and demons besides.

The tall one, all legs and high heels, pressed a hand against the outside wall of Shenanigans. Her black wings dangled at an odd angle, brushing the hem of her snakeskin miniskirt. She tossed her red hair from her face, laughing. Her companion, much shorter, in black leather and lace, grabbed at her friend. She pushed the black-winged one up against the wall, then pulled her down. Their lips met for a long, lingering kiss.

Under the streetlights, the small one’s wings flared. Insect wings.

 _Huh, another one_ , Gabriel thought. _I wonder if Beelzebub has a sister?_

Gabriel had never seen two girls kissing. Not outside the skin mags that his teammates passed around the locker room. Those pictures hadn’t had the same effect on him as they did on his friends. To the point that he began to suspect that something might be wrong with him. A suspicion that became harder to ignore since his quiet, studious, balls-of-brass classmate had started showing up in his imagination. In the dark and quiet hours, after he’d walked the whole of Brickport and before he’d sleep.

The girls broke their kiss, and the tall one nuzzled a hip flask. The short one wrapped an arm around her friend’s waist. They started, unsteadily, in the direction of Brick’s End. Or Port Street.

Gabriel wasn’t following them. That would be creepy. No, he was heading to Brick’s End. Right?

Right.

He heard the doors of Rosie’s swing open and shut. Two angels passed him, walking briskly. He recognized both of them from Dr. Sandalphon’s class. They were heading for the girls. The demons were a block ahead of Gabriel, but he felt certain. Those angels were heading for those girls. And that did not bode well.

The girls were laughing and singing. The words reached Gabriel.

“Poor old Johnny Ray!

Sounded sad upon the radio--

he moved a million hearts in mono!

Our mothers cried,

sang along, who'd blame them?”

The tall one leaned down on her companion.

“You’re grown,” the shorter one grunted under her friend’s weight. “So...so fecking grown.”

The tall one laughed, and then stopped. “Oh, shit. Hol’ up. Hol’ up. I broke a heel. Fuck me.”

“I will, love, but we got to get home. Lemme see.” The tall one stuck her foot out. The short one stared for a moment. Even at Gabriel’s distance, he could tell that the shoe was broken. “Yeah. Ye broke it bu’ good.”

“Fuck,” the tall one said, draining the last of her flask. “Wait, wait, wai--I think we’re heading to Port...”

“Aye, yer right. Let’s turn it round, then,” said the shorter one.

“Hello, doves,” said the bigger of the two angels. He had a buzz-cut and a voice that could gravel a parking lot. He sounded like he’d smoked since he was a toddler.

“Oh, scuse us, gents,” said the tall one.

“I think not,” said the reed-thin angel. His voice was refined, but his actions were not. He blocked the girls’ path. “Are you two looking for a date?”

“Nah, we’re good,” said the taller girl. “Got my date, right here.” She pulled her companion close, and the smaller girl laughed.

The big angel grabbed for the little demon, and she let out a small shriek. But her companion pulled her clothes out of the boy’s fists and shoved her behind herself.

“Hands off,” the tall demon said. “This is my girl, you feathered fuckers.”

“Please...we just need to pass,” said the short one. There was fear in her voice.

The big angel grabbed for the tall girl, but she slipped away.

“Run!” she cried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are the coffee of the soul!


	4. May the Living Be Dead (In Our Wake)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel tried to rescue the drunk demon girls, and sees something that he shouldn't have seen. There are many things that he does not know about his enigmatic classmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: violence, murder, sexual harassment

The girls dashed into an alley, and the angels followed them. Gabriel knew they were cornered.

His feet moved faster than his brain. He was running.

Finally, he was warm, in spite of the Brickport weather. He turned into the alleyway.

“Please...” whimpered the little demon. “Don’na hurt us...”

“Ye leave off on her,” the tall one said.

“We’re not leaving off on either of you,” said the boy with the posh voice. The voice that meant walls of ivy and tea in great flowery gardens. The velvet voice that hid the frothing dogs and the blood that old money could always clean up. “Be nice to us and it won’t go bad for you. Not that bad, anyways.”

The big one, the lout, just chuckled. It was a dark sound, a sarcoma of a laugh. Spreading through the alleyway like crude oil.

The girls held hands, cringing against the wall at the end of the alley. A single lightbulb, hanging over one of the doors that opened out to the alley, lit their faces as their foreheads nearly touched.

Their tears shimmered like glass, like diamonds.

The angels closed in, and Gabriel inhaled to yell.

A flutter of black leather, and a sheen of white feathers. Heavy boots landed on the pavement. He’d come from the fire escape. An angel.

An angel with a baseball bat with nails driven through it.

And from the other fire escape, another form fell. This one, blue-black in the dark. His weapon looked to be a length of pipe.

And from behind the Dumpster, an auburn haired girl slithered out. A sliver of streetlight illuminated her pointed teeth and the fish scales across her nose.

And the knife in her hand.

The impossibly tall, impossibly fair angel in the black leather trenchcoat brought his bat down on the skull of the thick angel. It sounded like a melon splitting, and there was a lot less blood than Gabriel had anticipated. The chameleon demon hit the wealthy angel with the pipe. It was quick and brutal.

The auburn-haired girl yanked back the moneyed angel’s head by his expensive haircut. She sliced through his throat.

Then she did the same for his friend.

The two cringing girls stood up.

“You alright?” asked the angel.

He was too pale. Eyes big and black.

Gabriel realized that he wasn’t an angel. Maybe a hybrid that could pass. But not an angel.

“We’re fine,” said the short girl. She spoke precisely and soberly. Gabriel could hear the elocution classes in her familiar voice. “Finish up with these two. I’ll be back.”

“Where d’you think you’re going?” asked the red-head with the black wings.

She pointed at Gabriel.

“Witness...” said the chameleon demon, his voice low and dangerous. He gripped his pipe tighter, raised it higher and closer to his body.

“I’ve got it,” she said, stepping delicately over the corpses of the angels. “I’ll meet you at home.”

“Are you sure?” asked the red-head.

“He’s a Dominionist,” she replied, over her shoulder. “So, unless you’d like an international incident, then yes, I’m quite sure.”

“Get the truck,” said Fish Scale girl. “We gotta move.”

Gabriel found himself looking into a pair of very familiar blue eyes. “C’mon, cowboy,” Beelzebub said, as he took Gabriel’s arm and led him away from the alley. “What hall are you in?”

“St. Michael’s. North.”

“We’re going to take the scenic route,” Beelzebub said, leading him towards Port Street. “If you scream or make a fuss, I’m going to have to kill you. I’d really rather not.”

“Seriously?” Gabriel said.

“Seriously.”

“I’m not going to scream.”

“Good.”

They followed Port Street and took a left down a street with no sign. Gabriel began to balk, but Beelzebub pulled him along. He was a lot stronger than Gabriel anticipated.

Gabriel looked down at his companion, a single lace glove resting in the crook of his arm. He followed the hand to the wrist with all the bracelets, to the very pale arm, and the leather jacket open over the gentle curve of a corseted bust. A bust that was small, but present, and most certainly real.

“You’re...a girl?” he asked.

Beelzebub regarded Gabriel with the same bored look that he’d only seen aimed at Dr. Sandalphon. “You have a very facile understanding of sex and gender.”

Gabriel frowned. He did not like being called facile. “Educate me, then.”

“I’m both. I was born that way,” Beelzebub said, with a shrug. “It’s unheard of in angels. In demons, maybe five out of a hundred are both. Ten more of a hundred can change at will.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said.

“Most of us are forced one way or another,” Beelzebub said. “It wasn’t always that way, but the Angelicans prefer the simplicity of pink or blue. Well, all angels seem to prefer the simplicity of pink or blue. That’s funny.”

“Why is that funny?”

“Cowboy, we’re the same stock,” said Beelzebub. “If fifteen out of a hundred of us are different, that means fifteen percent of you are freaks, too.”

“Angels and demons aren’t the same.”

“We can breed. That makes us the same species.”

Beelzebub pulled Gabriel down another unmarked street. The houses gave way to the massive quicklyme factory. Lyme Street, this would be.

“What possessed you?” the demon asked. “In the middle of the night? An empty alleyway?”

“I saw two girls, and two very bad angels,” Gabriel said, with a shrug. “I was trying to help.”

Beelzebub perked to something that Gabriel couldn’t hear. “Oh, hell.” He looked around wildly, before dragging Gabriel to a bus stop bench. “Sit,” he commanded.

Gabriel obeyed, and was surprised when Beelzebub straddled him, carefully settling his tulle skirt around Gabriel’s lap. He grabbed Gabriel’s hands and put them on his waist.

Their faces were an inch apart. He could smell the mint on Beelzebub’s breath, and the sweet scent of them. Flowers and honey, and completely intoxicating.

“Unless you want to watch me slaughter a couple of hogs, I suggest that you act like you’re enjoying yourself,” the demon told him.

“W-what if the bus comes?” he asked.

Beelzebub blinked. “The line is defunct. Hasn’t run since I was in playschool.”

Beelzebub pulled Gabriel’s face up, his fingers surprisingly gentle, and his lips fell on Gabriel’s. Gabriel’s wings wrapped, very much of their own accord, around the small demon in his lap.

“Thank you for the cover,” Beelzebub said softly, in the kiss.

Gabriel watched him as he wrapped his slim arms around Gabriel’s neck. The press of his small body against Gabriel’s had driven away the last of the autumnal chill of Brickport.

Beelzebub’s mouth opened Gabriel’s, and he felt their tongue meet his. He felt the demon’s fingers running through his hair. Gabriel watched the demon as he kissed him. His blue eyes were not on Gabriel’s, but instead in the direction of oncoming traffic.

A sleek, black-and-white cruiser turned down the street, strolled past them leisurely, and continued on.

“Fucking voyeurs,” Beelzebub growled. “C’mon.”

“Why did you...I mean, I’m not complaining, that was amazing,” he said. “But why?”

Beelzebub closed his eyes, sighed, then opened them again. “That was nothing, alright? Stage dressing. Literally, the only reason someone like you would be out here is to be on this bench, okay?”

“It was my first kiss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel doesn't know Beelzebub's pronouns, and doesn't know to ask. 
> 
> Bless his heart.
> 
> Comments and kudos are the manna that powers my pen (er...keyboard?)


	5. If I Ever Leave This World Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gabriel pushes and Beelzebub relents. They end up at Gabriel's dorm for more intimate conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No content warnings, I think. If I missed something, hit me up in the comments.

“It was my first kiss.”

“Bloody hell. Of course. It would be.” Beelzebub looked away. Shame pinked his cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Gabriel said. He reached for the demon’s face. Beelzebub shied from him. Sad little orphan. “Is your boyfriend going to be mad?”

“No, he’s not my...wait. How’d you know he’s a boy?”

“I saw him before, when I first got to Brickport. You were fixing a truck. I saw all of you...”

Beelzebub’s shoulders sank. Unexpectedly, they crumbled into Gabriel. He held them, uncertain of what he’d said or done.

“Promise me, cowboy,” they said, their breath warm in his ear. “Promise me that you’ll go home. Find some Dominionist demon to keep you warm. Promise me that you’ll forget me and my friends.”

“I don’t think--“

Beelzebub surged forward, shushing him with a kiss that stole his words, his thoughts, his will. Gabriel held the demon as tightly as he could, tasting the mint on his breath, willing himself to memorize the way that the little orphan’s flesh felt through his clothes. How his agile tongue felt, sparring with Gabriel’s in the cathedral they made with lips, teeth, and palates.

Beelzebub finally closed his eyes, finally moaned into Gabriel’s mouth. His body softened. A surrender?

The demon broke the kiss. “I’m taking you back to the dorm, and I’m helping you pack. You’re going home.”

“I never agreed to that.”

Gabriel felt something hard and sharp and strangely warm press into the delicate flesh of his neck. He knew it was Beelzebub’s little knife, warm from his body.

“I’m alright with you knowing me, with putting myself in danger,” he explained. His voice was calm, eerie considering that he was pressing metal into Gabriel’s skin. “But if you think--for a moment--that I’d put my friends in danger, you’re quite wrong.”

“You’d do it, wouldn’t you?” Gabriel asked. “You’d kill me. I’m on your side, Beelzebub!”

“Nobody’s on our side, except us,” he said, and the ice of his words crept into his eyes. “You’re a tourist to our struggles, Gabriel. It’s time to go home.”

Gabriel was silent for a moment, looking for some spark in those ice-crystal blue eyes. There was nothing. No warmth. No emotion at all.

“You kiss me like that, and then you just send me off?”

“I kiss a lot of boys.”

“I guess I’m not special, then?”

The knife disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and Beelzebub’s hand cupped Gabriel’s face. “Oh, you’re special,” he said. “I’m letting you live.”

Beelzebub shifted his weight to get up, but Gabriel held the boy in place. A flash of the frightened orphan boy, but he vanished quickly. All that was left was the calm boy with the posh accent and the quick knife.

“You need to think about what you’re doing,” Beelzebub said, levelly. “One scream, and you’re going to have every gun in the demon quarter pointed at your head.”

“You’re popular, then.”

“Very.”

Gabriel’s hand wandered up, from Beelzebub’s waist, under his jacket and along his spine. Beelzebub gasped when he found the place where his wings met his back. He lingered there, rubbing his thumb over the skin. Running his nails over it. The boy flushed, red from his face across his chest. His wings rose a bit as he leaned forward, resting his head on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“I should have cut your throat,” Beelzebub said, but there was no venom in his words.

“Probably,” Gabriel agreed, running his hand down one of Beelzebub’s magnificent wings.

The demon kept his wings down, allowing Gabriel’s touch. The wing was cold, but not hard. Membranous and ridged with veins. The wing yielded under pressure as Gabriel traced the veinwork with the pads of his thumb and fingers.

Beelzebub shuddered against him.

“You’re...very good at that...”

“They’re sensitive?”

“No’ tha wingzz...a’ tha jointzz...” Beelzebub paused. Then tried again. “Not the wings, but at the joints, yes. They’re quite sensitive.”

“You don’t have to apologize for the way that you speak.”

Gabriel ran his hand up the wing, stroking the joint again, this time through the thin leather of his jacket. He slipped his hand up, cupping the back of the demon’s neck. Beelzebub looked up at him, his eyes wide and his breath coming in little hitches. But he wasn’t screaming and he wasn’t pulling away.

“What do you want from me, angel?” Beelzebub watched him, skittish and frightened, but blood tip-toeing into his cheeks and across his nose.

Gabriel kissed him in answer, breathing his need into the space that he made when he joined their mouths. Beelzebub relented, allowing him to open his mouth, to enter there. To explore.

Beelzebub broke the kiss. “More?”

“Yes. More.”

“Not here.” He stood up, taking Gabriel’s hand. “We’re not far from St. Michael’s Hall, not if we go through the churchyard.”

“Like...the graveyard?”

“Afraid of corpses, cowboy?” Beelzebub said, with his half-smile. “I grew up there, at St. Helena’s. I’ll protect you.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“Let’s go, then.”

The church, an old and crumbling brick monster down the street from the quicklyme factory, was boarded up as they passed by it. Most of the letters had fallen off of the sign for the church.

It read, “Welcome to St. Hel”.

Creeping softly, as if they were walking through a sickward and not a lichyard, the two of them passed between the markers and monuments. Some of them were quite lavish. Behind a large mausoleum, Beelzebub showed Gabriel a partially crumbled brick wall.

Beelzebub carefully climbed through the gap where the bricks had failed. Gabriel was too large for that, so he climbed the wall and hopped down on the other side. Beelzebub’s hand slipped easily into his own after he landed, and they continued the journey down unnamed and twisting streets, through a couple of alleys, and eventually, to Gabriel’s dormitory.

“Which door is propped on the North Hall?” Beelzebub muttered to himself. “Ah, there it is.”

He opened a door that Gabriel didn’t even know existed. “This goes down to the basement. We can take the stairs from there. What floor are you on?”

“Fifth.”

“All the way up, alright. Lead on, then.”

Gabriel did, watching for the dorm monitors and other snitches as they descended into the basement, then to the stairwell that went up to the student rooms. He usually took the stairs two or three at a time. He knew Beelzebub could keep up, but stealth demanded that he not stomp his way to the top floor as he usually did.

Thankfully, his dorm room was close to the stairwell. His hands were shaking as he tried to unlock the door. Beelzebub shook his head, gently took the keys from Gabriel, and unlocked the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are love!
> 
> It's been a while since I've posted that I'm [SEDeHaven](https://sedehaven.tumblr.com) on Tumblr. I write poetry and such there.


	6. Drunken Lullabies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A flask of mead, a willing demon, a needy angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Alcohol, drugging

Gabriel kept a tidy space, and was grateful for that particular habit now. He had nothing to worry about for room inspection, and not for unexpected company, either.

“Do you drink at all?” Beelzebub asked, after giving his room a cursory once-over and approving.

“A bit,” Gabriel answered honestly.

“Try this,” Beelzebub said, pulling a flash from inside of his leather jacket. “I brew mead. Tell me if it’s any good.”

Gabriel took the flask and opened it. The contents smelled strong and sweet. He took a sip, a cautious sip.

It was sweeter than he expected, tasting like the amber light of a summer sunset. It was warm and smooth all the way down.

“This is...phenomenal!” he said. “Do you sell it?”

“No, but I did beat Professor Sandalphon at the Craft Alcohols Expedition last month,” Beelzebub replied. “That was a good day.”

“So, he’s hated you for a while, then?”

“Since he met me,” Beelzebub said, giving Gabriel a playful shove to the bed. He sat down hard. “This stuff goes straight to your head. Sit down.”

“Sit with me?”

Beelzebub easily straddled Gabriel’s lap, one arm around his neck. The demon kissed him. Their lips were warm and their breath sweeter than the mead. It was delicious.

Beelzebub broke the kiss. “You’re warmer now.”

“I think it’s the booze.”

“Really?” he said, rocking on Gabriel’s lap. “Is it the booze?”

Beelzebub leaned back, grabbing Gabriel’s knees to steady himself. His jacket dropped off of his shoulders. Carefully, he slipped arms from the sleeves and the wings from the wing slits. The jacket fell to Gabriel’s floor like a husk. Something unneeded. Outgrown.

Gabriel realized that Beelzebub had shed his knife with his jacket. Well, the knife that he knew about. Little orphan boys with frightened eyes probably had more than one.

The demon’s hand went back to Gabriel’s shoulder, and he started rocking on him again. He watched Beelzebub’s body move, the leather of his corset moving with him.

Those blue eyes regarded him, no longer flat and lifeless. Gabriel saw interest spark there. Something urgent and powerful. A need as great as his own. He tipped up the flask, and Beelzebub found his exposed throat with lips and gentle teeth. Little nips, little kisses, from the hollow of his throat up to his ear.

Beelzebub’s lacey-gloved hand reached down, and Gabriel sighed as he began to palm the swelling in the angel’s jeans.

Gabriel finished the flask. “Oh, it’s empty...” he said. “I didn’t ask if you wanted any.”

Beelzebub shrugged. “No worries. I’ve got barrels of it.”

Gabriel set the empty flask down on the table by his bed, and wrapped his arms around Beelzebub. He twisted, pulling the demon down on the mattress. He rolled, until he was on top of Beelzebub, who laughed and wrapped his legs around Gabriel’s waist.

“So eager?” Beelzebub asked.

“Yes,” Gabriel replied, kissing his lips, his neck, his chest.

“How long have you wanted me?”

Gabriel located a zipper that ran down the side of the corset and yanked it down. Beelzebub gasped, but didn’t resist him as he knelt up and pulled him free. Gabriel dropped the corset down with the jacket.

“A very long time,” he said, and that was true. Maybe from the second class that they’d shared.

Beelzebub was bare from the waist up, excepting the large piece of amber that was framed in gold and contained a long dead mosquito. His wings were spread over Gabriel’s comforter, casting rainbow shadows over the cotton.

He lingered, letting the image settle in his memory. Beelzebub, eyes half-closed, chest rising and falling, the soft pink of his nipples, which matched the pink of his lips.

Gabriel’s lips found Beelzebub’s neck. He kissed him there, nuzzling and nibbling as he cupped one breast gently, running a thumb over the nipple that swelled for him. He kissed Beelzebub’s shoulders, and then further down.

He felt light-headed from the booze and the heat of the little demon under him. He pulled a nipple into his mouth, teasing with teeth and tongue as the demon covered his mouth and bit back a cry.

Beelzebub whimpered and buzzed as Gabriel teased him and suckled him. The whimpers took the shape of his name, barely recognizable from behind Beelzebub’s hand.

He leaned up, pulling Beelzebub’s hand away from his mouth, and kissing him deeply. He held the back of the demon’s neck. Other hand still stroking, still touching, pinching, rubbing.

Beelzebub groaned into his mouth. His legs wrapped around Gabriel as he began to grind into the tulle and satin that still separated them. 

“Well, aren’t you a natural talent?” Beelzebub said, when he broke the kiss.

Gabriel tapped Beelzebub’s thigh, and was released. He knelt up, running both hands over Beelzebub’s torso. They settled on Beelzebub’s tulle-clad hips. “I like the sounds you make. I want you to make more of them.”

Beelzebub met his eyes, gave Gabriel half a smile, and then lifted his leg. He shoved Gabriel back with one boot.

It was playful, and Gabriel wanted to play.

He took Beelzebub’s foot in his hands, found the zipper on his knee-high boots, and freed him from it. Then the other. Dropped them with the discarded jacket.

The skirt had lifted, and Gabriel had seen that the stockings had a garter belt that held them up. The sight left Gabriel weak, his mouth dry, and he had no mead to help him.

He ran a shaking, hesitant hand along the outside of Beelzebub’s left leg, to the knee, then higher. He eventually found the part of his thigh that was uncovered. He ran his fingers along the flesh there, and was rewarded with a sigh.

Beelzebub lifted his skirt, exposing the black satin panties and the garter belt. Gabriel felt dizzy.

“Kiss me,” Beelzebub said.

Gabriel knelt, taking one of the demons feet in his hands, and laying a kiss on the ankle, and then the instep. He darted his tongue out, to feel the texture of the fishnets, to taste the skin beneath. It was heady. Exquisite.

The room was not spinning (but definitely teetering) as he worked his way up to Beelzebub’s dimpled knee, and past. Eventually to the inside of his thigh, where the stockings ended. Towards the part of him that smelled of damp spring earth and musk.

He laid a kiss on the satin that strained against swelling flesh. Another kiss lower, at the wet spot that spread, making black somehow blacker.

“Yezz...” the demon buzzed above him. “More.”

Gabriel’s fingers were suddenly so clumsy. Like opening the door, he couldn’t make them cooperate for a simple task. He tried to pull the waistband of those panties, to free the cock that was reaching for him. To find the delicious little mouth underneath.

He was so focused on his goal that he didn’t notice the darkness closing in on him until he couldn’t hold himself up anymore.

The demon sat up and gently, oh so gently, guided Gabriel down. Down, down, down. He felt the soft comforter under his face. The demon’s lips were warm on his temple.

“Sorry, cowboy,” Beelzebub said, as the light in the room became gauzy and dim. “But I told you not to follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did anybody see that coming?
> 
> Gabriel sure didn't.
> 
> Comments and kudos, they'rrre grrreat!


	7. Epilogue: Swagger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beelzebub returns home after dealing with Gabriel. They spend time with their friends, their thoughts, and their memories.
> 
> Long chapter, but I didn't want to break it up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Sexual harassment of a student by a teacher, sexual assault, Sandalphon, unhealthy views on sexuality, depression

St. Helena’s Church Rectory, the next day

Beelzebub tossed the truck keys to Dagon. She caught them and hung them on their hook. Behind her, in the sitting room, Beelzebub saw Crowley sitting in an old faded floral armchair. There were a stack of newspapers on the table beside him, alongside an open bottle. At his feet, the newspapers that he’d finished reading collected like snowdrifts.

Hastur and Ligur poked their heads out of the rectory kitchen, where (from the smells that followed them out) they’d been combining WWII era canned goods into something edible.

“Oy, boss,” Ligur said, his skin the rich orange of polished cedarwood under the soft incandescent light of the rectory. “We found Sister Mary’s stash!”

“Biscuits or pot?”

“Biscuits,” Ligur replied, shaking the tin at Beelzebub. They took a slender shortbread finger with pink icing from the heap and ate it. “They were still sealed.”

“God bless Sister Mary Loquacious,” Beelzebub said, swallowing the biscuit and accepting the hot tea that Ligur handed them. The chipped brown mug looked hand-thrown, and Beelzebub was pleasantly surprised (and grateful) to find the tea laced with a bit of brandy.

“The Dominionist,” Dagon began, in her usual precise fashion. “Where did you leave him?”

“On a plane, and alive,” Beelzebub replied. They set down their cup and pulled their greatcoat off. They stretched their wings, scattering rainbows across the wall and floor. “He’s o’er the Atlantic by now, I’m sure.”

“They’re itchin’ to be rid of any foreigners, these days,” Crowley said, glancing up from his newspaper. “Sweet Bee, they found the two what we did in last night.”

“And?”

“Them demon girls what Ligur knew are doin’ their bit,” Crowley explained. “They’re sayin’ they knew those twunts, and tha’ they were regulars, so e’erybody seems fine believin’ that the Soldiers o’ Purity done ‘em for consorting with demons.”

“They found that pen we left,” Dagon said, kissing Beelzebub on the cheek. “So, I’mma guess ol’ Sandy Phone’s bacon is burnt black now.”

“Good. That’s our investigation started. All according to plan.”

“Thar’s more,” Crowley said. “Them crews moved some more of the rubble at the chemistry lab. They found another body. That cocksucker, Pulsifer.”

“Not Newt? He were with us at the memorial.”

“Nay, it were his thrice-damned grandfather, Adult’ry.”

“Fuck.”

“You said it,” Crowley dropped one newspaper and picked up another. “Looky.”

Beelzebub scanned the article. Adultery Pulsifer was known to associate with a group of angels and demons calling themselves Witchfinders--and the police believed that they were responsible. New evidence (Dr. Nutter’s own diaries, and the fact that she had her affairs put in order the week before she died) pointed to Agnes knowing about the plot. Her diaries said that she would be brought--alive--to the basement chemistry lab. It was apparently chosen because it had a large incinerator for laboratory waste. Poor Dr. Nutter was introduced to the incinerator alive.

According to her own notes, Dr. Nutter went into that furnace in a dress packed with black powder and roofing nails.

“They’re gonna assume that the Sons hired them Witchfinders,” Beelzebub said, laying a gentle hand on Crowley’s shoulder.

Their friend was grieving. He’d had Dr. Nutter from Introduction to Statistics all the way through Advanced. Plus two independent studies. He laid his own hand over Beelzebub’s, turned and kissed their wrist.

“Let’s not with Agnes, now. Wha’ happened with yer Dominionist?” Crowley asked, dropping his newspaper, and unfolding a crisp new one. “Last night, before ye shoved him onto a plane.”

“He ain’t mine, and nary wazz.”

“How many boys d’you buzz over?” Crowley asked, quirking an eyebrow over his newspaper.

“Shove it,” Beelzebub returned. “He was nice enough, but he’s not Brickport. He’s better off at home.”

“Alright, well, what happened with the Dominionist that is definitely NOT yers?”

“He’s a cowboy. He wanted to be a hero. I let him think he was,” Beelzebub said. “Pretended I liked him, brought him to his place, gave him some of my mead. My special mead. Tha’ shit’s got enough ‘ludes in it to take out a fecking moose, and it nearly weren’t enough.”

“But it worked,” Dagon said.

“Obviously,” Beelzebub said.

“ _Obviously_ ,” Crowley mocked.

“Pigeon’s gonna make you soft,” Hastur opined.

“Oh, shut it. Both o’ ye,” Beelzebub spat, feeling suddenly very fragile. “I packed his shit. I cancelled his classes and withdrew him from the university.”

“Used my phone system?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, yer a ruddy genius for inventing that,” Beelzebub said. “An’ getting the school to use it. An’ giving me the supervisory codes so I could bypass all the wee headaches you put in it.”

“Thank ye,” he replied.

“As for the Dominionist, he’s on a plane. He’s _away_.” Beelzebub crossed their arms in front of them. “So he’s not makin’ anybody soft, Hastur.”

“Boss?” Ligur asked.

“Yeah?”

“Isn’t that his jacket?”

“Aye, and what of it?” Beelzebub demanded. “’M allowed a trophy.”

Beelzebub finished their tea and left the mug beside Crowley’s bottle. The others were chuckling, but this was the kind of hysteria that would not be contained in chuckles. They sighed and stomped off to the room that they were sharing with Dagon. The laughter behind them swelled, all the way to the rafters.

The angel had been kind, but misguided. Some other demon could keep him warm in the States.

He didn’t belong in Brickport, and could very likely get himself killed. He wasn’t useful, like the other angels that the group of them used. He wasn’t the gifted daughter of a fabulously wealthy art dealer, like Dagon’s girlfriend. He wasn’t like Crowley’s boyfriend, a much older man who reeked of respectability from his antique bookshop and kept shoving cash into Crowley’s hands every time he saw him. He certainly wasn’t the mayor’s ginger daughter who liked it rough and wild, and got that from Hastur and Ligur on the regular.

Even Professor Sandalphon would have been more useful, if Beelzebub could have stomached the man’s warm, moist hands on them. They’d only experienced that unpleasantness once, and it hadn’t gone far. They’d been sent to Professor Sandalphon to schedule the two humanities classes that they suddenly needed to graduate. A boy had left before Beelzebub was called in, walked past them as they waited on a bench outside of the office. They knew that boy was Gabriel, now. But then, he’d just been a ridiculously handsome stranger.

Professor Sandalphon’s office was standard for the philosophy department, one wall of books and knick-knacks. A large, blocky desk. The single window, sickly light struggling its way through the miniblinds. Late summer rain pattered the glass. Beelzebub remembered that, quite clearly.

Sandalphon wasn’t a bad advisor. Talked too much about himself, but everybody did. Beelzebub was a game listener. There was always great value in pedestrian information.

The professor had spent most of the meeting fondling a very nice fountain pen, turned cedarwood barrel, with golden nib. He’d mentioned making it himself, as woodworking was among his myriad hobbies.

He kept running his thumb over it as he prattled on about his motorcycle, his craft beer, his friends and their band. Stroking the pen, rolling it between his hand and the desk. Thumbing over gold trim ring and the finial, almost like he was teasing a cockhead.

Every now and then, he’d write a few words on the advising slip, and eventually had the whole thing filled out. Signed it.

“That’s it. Let me show you something,” he’d said.

Sandalphon had pulled a book down from his shelf, the _Ars Daemonique_ , a very old edition. Beelzebub pretended interest, but they’d read it ages ago. It was an exceedingly dull tome.

The sex inside read like stereo instructions.

He opened the book to a lurid woodcut print of a demon--nude, limp--sprawled across an opulent bed. One hand arm laid over the demon’s eyes, and the other gripped the sheets. The demon’s limp cock laid over one thigh, exposing the hole beneath. Their breasts swelled gently over their ribs, a heavy hand between them, holding the demon in place. An angel reared above the frightened demon, yanking their legs open. The angel’s wings flared and his cock pointed at the opening that it would never breech.

The angel looked lecherous and triumphant. The demon looked helpless. Resigned.

Flowers bloomed around the frame. Begonia, violet, and nettles near the demon. Roses, yellow hyacinth, and oleander crowded the angel. The woodcut was created by a demon, but Professor Sandalphon didn’t know that. It was in the language of the flowers. Wariness, modesty, and struggle for the demon. Ardor, jealousy, and danger from the angel.

The inscription said, “Le Triomphe de Sandalphon.” It was the moment when Sandalphon conquered Beelzebub. Not from the Biblical story, but from the _Ars Daemonique_. The most memorable thing about that sex scene was that Beelzebub (their namesake and a Prince of Hell) had stubbornly stayed flaccid for the whole affair.

Beelzebub remembered Professor Sandalphon speaking, probably commenting the artist’s technique and the meaning behind the scene itself. It seemed like the kind of thing he would say. The particulars of his words were lost, because the memory that lingered was of the professor’s hands. Thick, meaty hands on Beelzebub’s slim shoulders.

Beelzebub was used to angels touching them without permission. They wore that greatcoat for a reason. It kept random strangers from putting their hands on them. On their wings.

Beelzebub hoped he’d be done soon and they could leave. That Sandalphon would make his sloppy pass, and Beelzebub would demure, and that would be enough for him.

That’s when he said the one thing that Beelzebub did remember clearly. “The Bible makes us enemies, you and me,” he’d said, breathing the words into Beelzebub’s ear. His breath was moist and smelled, faintly, of garlic and meat. “Elijah burnt the priests of Ba’al Zebub, destroyed his temples, and left him with nothing. It doesn’t have to be that way between us, does it? I mean, the anonymous author of the _Ars_ had other ideas...”

And his thumb dug deep into the place where Beelzebub’s wings joined their back. They cried out, but Sandalphon’s hand clamped over their mouth.

“I’m a very good ally to have, Beelzebub,” he whispered in their ear, holding them in place, and running his rubbery, slug-like lips along the flesh of Beelzebub’s neck. Beelzebub felt him nudge them, just over the tailbone due to the differences in their heights. “I could do a lot for you. Or against you.”

They looked down at the woodcut. Beelzebub’s captured namesake and their nemesis. Violence and surrender.

Begonias, violets, and nettles. Beware, keep your modesty. And struggle.

Beelzebub dropped down, spilling out of their coat and leaving it in Sandalphon’s clenched hands. “I don’t get my grades on my back,” Beelzebub said. Their voice was bored, but their heart hammered in their chest.

Sandalphon smiled, and the obscenity of that simple smile amazed Beelzebub. He held out their coat, and they took it back from him. “Your choice, of course,” he’d said. “But it’s going to get really hard for you here without a few friends.”

Beelzebub had been on this campus for years and had friends, just not in Sandalphon’s department. They kept their expression neutral, bored. They slipped their greatcoat back on.

“Your wings are beautiful,” Dr. Sandalphon said.

“I know,” Beelzebub returned. “If we’re finished here?”

Professor Sandalphon gestured to the door.

Beelzebub went, and wasn’t particularly surprised that the professor met them at the door. Less surprised when those thick hands thrust under the wool of their coat, when he grabbed at their breasts roughly.

“Think on it, though,” he said, as cheerfully as if he’d asked Beelzebub to consider taking a particularly fascinating course on modern philosophy.

Beelzebub met his gaze with their usual disaffected stare. “No, thank you.”

“Again, your choice,” he said, not taking his hand back. “But you made the wrong one.”

He’d let Beelzebub go, after nearly crushing their tit with a parting squeeze.

After that day, Sandalphon was in front of the classroom three times a week, forcing Beelzebub to justify their existence. The existence of demons. To a classroom of nodding sycophants and one very confused Dominionist.

If they could have stomached Dr. Sandalphon, he might’ve been useful. He was old, coarse, run to fat and balding. But that’s not supposed to matter. They were taught in the orphanage to use whatever charms they could for whatever favors they could gain. Sex was a commodity. Angels needed it, and demons supplied it.

They’d justified (to themselves--they didn’t tell their friends anything about the sickening afternoon in Sandalphon’s office) denying the professor. He was too quick to intimidation. Way too quick to use pain. He had the air of a wing-ripper, and regrowing wings was ungodly painful. And itchy.

Gabriel, though.

His touch was kind. He touched them with tenderness and respect. As much as Beelzebub wanted the whole thing on the bench to be an act...and everything in his dorm room, as well...his hands on them had been magic. Every action whispered his care.

It felt like kissing Crowley, except without the weird incestuous overtones that went with kissing someone they’d known since they were toddlers. And, of course, kissing Crowley was always performative. It was for effect.

Crowley’s heart lay with the wealthy old queen who sold books in the gay district.

Oh, but with the angel, there could have been something. Had he been a kindly local angel with a magic umbrella made of some combination of money and influence to help Beelzebub navigate the continued shitstorm that was Brickport, something could have bloomed there. Something warm.

Unfortunately, life wasn’t fair and Gabriel wasn’t particularly useful. Worse, he could finger them all, and was clever enough to piece to figure out everything that Beelzebub and their friends were up to. He was a liability. Sending him home had been the right thing, and moreover, the kind thing to do.

They’d gotten some strange looks at the airport, but everybody was willing to believe that he was a very sick boy and needed to go home NOW. Gabriel was stumbling when he boarded the plane. When Beelzebub buckled him in and kissed him one last time. He’d be awake now. Probably cross.

Let him be cross. He was still alive.

Clever boy, but not clever enough. Earnest and kind and a bunch of other wonderful qualities. If things were different...

A person could drown in an ocean named “What If.” Mother Superior used to tell Beelzebub that when they were young, if she felt that they were indulging in too much self-pity. Eventually, they learned to live in their pain without complaining, as they lived in the cold and damp of Brickport.

Yes, if things were different, they probably would have taken on the endearing Doninionist boy. But things weren’t different, and never would be. Sympathizers were in danger. After what happened to Agnes...

It wouldn’t go any better for an angel with a taste for demons.

Things might get better after the investigation. But, in Brickport, the hatred was as old as the bricks. It was mixed in with the mortar. It was transmitted by the hands that laid the foundations, built the buildings. It was breathed in the cold, damp air. It spilled out with the blood. It screamed in the blasts of bombs.

The destruction of the Sons of Purity would give them peace until another group rose up. And another. And another.

Beelzebub and their friends lost everything (the little that they had) in the bombing of Campus View. Now, they squatted in the rectory of the church that they’d all grown up in after their parents had died, or just tired of them. Their old orphanage was torn down years ago, but the rectory was still standing, not leaking, and had electricity.

It would do, until they found something better.

They kicked their shoes off and climbed into the bed. They hugged the letterman jacket around them. His jacket still smelled like him, and they wondered how long his scent would linger. Clean skin, fresh sweat, and his cologne--petrichlor and fresh-cut grass and leather. Underneath all of it, the musk of a young man that, had circumstances been different, they might have loved.

It felt nice. It felt warm. And it eased them into a sleep free of struggles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may eventually write a sequel where Gabriel gets his jacket back. This was supposed to be a one-shot. Fail.
> 
> Gabriel was drugged with [Quaaludes](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Methaqualone), or 'ludes. Ancient date rape drug, used by Bill Cosby and other famous rapists of the era.
> 
> If you liked this, let me know. Comments and kudos are the sweet breezes in the desert of writer's block.

**Author's Note:**

> I went away for about a week and a half, and I wrote this. 
> 
> The chapter titles are from Flogging Molly's 2002 album, ["Drunken Lullabies"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O1BifUztU_Y&list=PLTApr45G3y8MGTfNzFpDTqeCssf9SOQCw). Great album, give it a listen if you can.
> 
> Comment and kudos are the life. Love you, my darlings.


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